In The Dark Of The Night
by Midwinter's-Night-Dream-86
Summary: The Night Shows Us For What We Really Are. Vilkas awakens one night to discover the truth to a lie he didn't know he had been told. VilkasxOC. One Shot.


_**In The Dark Of The Night**_

 _(The Night Shows Us For What We Really Are)_

Not everything was as it should be.

In the distance he could hear the rolling snores of Kodlak and Skjor, and down the hall, he could even hear the fitful moaning of Aela's little protégé through still another one of her nightmares. And yet, he could also hear steady breathing in his own bedchamber that wasn't his own, and that made Vilkas uneasy.

The dark haired Nord lay in bed, and to any onlooker he would have appeared asleep, save for the tense posture his body had adopted when he had been woken up. Along with the strange breathing was a smell, a smell that he knew all too well, but shouldn't be in his chamber. He took every assignment in Winterhold and the Rift just for a chance to smell the scent of frost and berry that announced her presence, that she shared with her.

"Jolinar," he whispered her given name almost breathlessly, which made him feel foolish. He was dreaming, he had to be. There was just no reason for her to be there, when it would very well be-

There was no creak of floorboards or any other warning before two bloodred eyes, framed by an ash blue face and sunny blonde hair, appeared close by to him in the near darkness.

The truth sat before him in the form of the Dark Elf, and yet in his heart of hearts Vilkas could not make himself believe it. For months - years, even - the Companions had been on the cold trail of "the Queen of Shadows," a lady thief who everyone knew of but nobody knew. Some said that she was the mistress of the infamous Thieves Guild, while still others went so far as to say that she was the Daedric Lord Nocturnal herself, come to play games of cat and mouse amongst mortals for her own amusement. No one, not Kodlak, nor Skjor, nor Aela had come as close as he had to capturing her. One time, he would have had her, too, if he hadn't followed the scent left by her perfume to the Archmagister instead...

Of course, then she had simply been a Mistress of Illusion (had she been using magic all this time to cloud his senses? To keep him from pursuing the lead of the shared perfume beyond a friendly inquiry?) and he'd only known the golden haired Dark Elf a short while when, because of the shared perfume, he had allowed the Queen of Shadows to escape into the night. It was strange, he had always thought, how utterly enchanted he had been with Jolinar Aren from the beginning. She was his utter opposite in everything, except, it seemed, where it had really counted.

Or so he'd thought until that moment, when, by whispering her name, he had summoned her to his side like a phantom in the night instead of the thief from the shadows that he had expected and even hoped for. It wasn't even that it was her, but that she and the Queen of Shadows were the same person.

The dark haired Nord rose slowly in bed, his every move watched by gleaming crimson eyes, until he had sat up to properly face the Elf kneeling at his bedside. Vilkas took in the faint form revealed only by the superior eyesight given to him by the Beast Blood. Her golden hair was braided away from her face and her body was clad in cold black leather. So different was this dark figure from the kind mage that he knew that he would have claimed that they were two separate people, as he always had, if he didn't recognize her by her face and her blasted perfume.

"I needed to speak to you," she whispered almost inaudibly, but he heard her distinctly. He wondered, absently, if she knew his secret - the Circle's secret - too, but he would worry about that later, if at all.

"About what?" He asked, his voice almost as low. What else was he meant to say? Was he to call her out for being the thief that she was?

Instead of answering, the golden haired Dark Elf stood up. Vilkas could only watch as she then pulled a familiar pink gem from the confines of one of her jacket pockets.

In the next moment, he was out of his bed and across the room with his hands clenching her jacket collar. "What did you do to the Harbinger?" he snarled at her.

Jolinar's nose crinkled at the onslaught of - literal - dog's breath in her face. However, she ignored it in favor of reaching up and gently grabbing one of Vilkas' hands. "I haven't even seen him tonight. Listen to me, this gem," she began, and despite himself, Vilkas couldn't help but be calmed by the soothing, level tones of her voice, "Is a part of a set that I am trying to reassemble." She looked thoughtful for a moment, then, before continuing, "Just like the Companions want to one day restore Wuuthrad, I would like to restore Barenziah's crown."

He didn't loosen his grip, but he did step back out of her face. "What does that gem have to do with our axe?"

"That is a very good question," Jolinar smiled. "See, I figure you give me _my_ artifact," she waved the pink stone in his face, "And I tell you where you can definitely find another piece of _your_ artifact."

Vilkas stared at her in suspicion. "How do I know you're telling me the truth?" he demanded.

"Well, I didn't exactly have to tell you I was here, did I? I could've just stolen it outright." Jolinar's smile melted into a frown, and she sensed that there was more troubling the Nord than just her trespassing and theft. "Vilkas? What's the matter?"

"The matter-" he started, incredulous. "You're the blasted Queen of Shadows!" He made as if to shake her by her collar before he remembered himself and dropped his hands from her jacket.

"The Queen of Shadows? Is that what they're calling me these days? Well, that's better than-"

"Jolinar!" Vilkas cried, interrupting her, and the two looked at each other - really looked at each other - for the first time.

"I only wanted to help you," she whispered, and in that moment Vilkas found himself hugging his friend, though he wasn't sure if he could even call her that anymore. To his relief, he felt her return the embrace. "Now, Vilkas," she said, her voice betraying the age hidden by her Elven features, "Please, tell me what's wrong."

Vilkas stood there in silence with his arms wrapped around Jolinar, and he thought. He was a warrior, a Companion, and foremost, by home and by birth, he was a Nord, and yet ever since he had met the ageless Dark Elven mage, he had felt drawn to her. Her kind patience, openness, and even her golden hair had pulled him closer toward her so that, now, when he found out that she was a thief and a lier, he couldn't find it in himself to hate her. By Shor, until that moment, he had been quite sure that he had very nearly loved her! With that resounding thought, Vilkas at last spoke. "It's just, I don't understand," the usually smart Nord admitted, suddenly feeling more ashamed than angry with himself for not figuring out Jolinar's secret when it had literally been under his nose the whole time.

Jolinar nodded in understanding. "I see, yes. Well, I've been a thief since-" she stopped herself, having nearly said "since before you were born," but that wouldn't help her case, not with Vilkas. Instead, she went on, "-for a very long time. I don't think I could stop now even if I wanted to. There's an itch. I suppose it's kinda like how you feel about being a Companion and doing what you do, you have to do it."

He was tired, and maybe a little bit heartbroken. It was too late at night, or early in the morning, for him to find it in himself to condemn her. _Besides_ , the Wolf whispered from within him, _it isn't like she rips people apart with her bear teeth..._

"Jolinar," he said suddenly, backing out of her arms and away from her. As the golden haired Dark Elf watched him, Vilkas' mind was in turmoil. The most infamous thief of the era was in his room, but she was also the kindest person he knew, the smartest, the most powerful - the Archmage of Winterhold! And she was the Queen of Shadows! She was so honest, but her whole life was a lie! ...and wasn't his? He was a werewolf. A creature that was considered by most people, including himself, to be a bloodthirsty monster. To be a known carrier of the Beast Blood was to be called a Daedric worshipper and to be in direct opposition to the law, to risk death, to be thought of as a monster and a killer... He couldn't condemn her, they were the same.

"Jolinar," he said again, and she stepped forward and took one of his hands into her's, "You're...happy?"

The Dark Elf's brow creased in confusion, but she nodded anyway. "I believe so, but why-"

"Can you stay happy, for me?" His skin crawled, and he could feel that one of the moons had reached its zenith that night. A hundred thoughts flitted through his head. She was happy. Maybe - but, no. She would never be happy with him, because with him she could never be herself. With her, he could never be himself, because to be with together he would always be the wolf and she would never be a thief.

He hated being the wolf, and Jolinar Aren couldn't make it bearable because she would not be able to bear it.

"I don't understand," she was saying, but Vilkas shook his head.

"The night shows us for what we really are," he said, straightening up and squeezing her hand. "And at night I am not happy, but you are. Please Jolinar, stay that way and don't give into darker desires."

The Queen of Shadows gaped at him, before, slowly, she released his hand and withdrew a folded piece of parchment from her jacket and dropped it to the floor. He watched it drift lazily down on to the rug, where it stood out starkly in the near darkness. When it had landed, he finally looked up again.

She was gone.

He hadn't really expected her to stay. In fact, he had probably scared her with his sporadic and rather mad behavior.

"Lunatic," he admonished himself softly as he stooped to pick up the parchment, which still smelled like frost and berries. He took a deep breath as he unfolded it.

In a slender script, she had written just two words: _Dustman's Cairn._

Vilkas chuckled morbidly at the irony. So close...he could be there before the moons had moved even a fraction more across the sky if he took form...

But no. Jolinar may be happy with what she became at the rising of the moons each night, but he was not. He would leave it to his brother, and maybe Aela's pup. The girl needed a distraction, and he could give her that silent kindness, even if he wouldn't give it to himself.

Vilkas tucked the parchment into a book and went back to bed, where he was plagued by dreams of wolves who stole the happiness of thieves for themselves but found nothing.

Not so far away, a blonde mage worried over a dark haired warrior.

 **Originally, this was going to be the first of a drabble series sorta similar to** ** _The RoseCloak Collection_** **, but with Jolinar and multiple guys, not just one like with Leara and Ulfric. But then an annoying plot bunny came and bit me (my hand still smarts) and so now Jolinar gets an entire series of sporadically written one shots! Yay! Ahem.**

 **If there's any confusion as to what exactly happened here (as I've read through four times and I'm still not sure I was clear enough), just ask in a review or PM me! Reviews are always appreciated!**

 **(If anyone was wondering, Aela's little protégé is Artanis Felagund. Funny how the Companions started out as Elf Exterminators and now they've got Elves in their ranks. Ha!)**

 **General Disclaimer: Skyrim, Vilkas, etc © Bethesda; Jolinar Telvanni and Artanis Felagund © Me.**


End file.
